The Lost Witch
by Teshia14
Summary: Strange house, strange woman. What's going on?


**_Disclaimer: I don't own Big Time Rush._**

**_A/N: This was written as a short story, so it will stay so. (11/13/13)_**

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**_CHAPTER ONE_**

The house in the wilderness shone like five of the brightest stars joined together - the old rocks paved into the walls, and the roads were deserted. It seemed like a creepy place to be, where there wasn't humans vacant nor animals. Even with all that, the house seemed welcoming; fresh green pasture of grasses, sweet-smelling flowers, and least of all, an old friendly house. But this was where the absurd incident occurred, according to sources.

So here I was, awaiting the host, who I was supposed to meet. It had been a good hour since I arrived, and already the thought of leaving entered my mind. But my job was at stake here, and this was the first story, I was assigned to investigate it and discover the truth. And there was no way I was going to mess up this time.

Liam Russell, my boss - the best reporter in town - actually trusted me with a story, and I don't want to prove him wrong. When the job was given to me, the chance to be successful had never been greater, or to be my own person, without being a mere shadow in my brother's success. Don't get me wrong, I am proud of Kendall's success as a singer, but I just wanted to have something to call my own.

Taking the job up of reporting was the start of my career. Finally after doing small stories, I had made it to a bigger story, which frankly seemed false. This was my job and if I refuse to investigate a weird case, as time traveling, then I would be out of a job.

Where was that guy? Douglas Harris was his name? He was late, like an hour late. When we spoke on the phone and messaged each other, Douglas came off as a responsible guy, who was never late for any meeting. Also we were friends. Guess I was wrong. Maybe I should ring the doorbell? In case there was someone home, it won't hurt.

Hovering around the corners, being skeptical of course, I went up to the porch. The porch was decorated nicely with four chairs with comfy cotton cushions and leather coverings, and a glass table in the middle with a vase of flowers. There was an embroidery rug that appeared homemade that in big bold cursive letters written: "**WELCOME."**

That's strange; when rung, the doorbell gave off an eerie cry: similar to that of a victim in a horror movie. There went my strange instincts, which always had set off without with any warnings. Calm yourself down, Katie, I reassured myself, it must be the homesick feeling kicking in.

Tough, was what I used to be called, but now I was called oddly because I have strange connections - not connections but feelings - about matters that was considered off. So that might be the reason, this place was giving me the creeps. "Don't count your eggs before they are hatched." But when you are me, you got overly excited over everything, and then came the disappointed feeling. To eased it up, ice-cream did the trick.

An old woman opened the door after what seemed like a century. Her face appeared that of a witch, and that's a fact; the way witches are portrayed in Hollywood; the old wrinkled face, beady ebony eyes of nightfall, a croaked nose of the withering branches, thin lips of layers of dirt, white hair of the clouds, and a figure of a fragile cane. Her clothing - a long black dress, black pointy shoes, and black pointy hat. So she gave out the vibe of a witch, for Christ's sake, she was dressed like one. Or like how Hollywood and fairy-tale portrayed one.

"Hello, dear, how can I help you?" she answered in a croaked voice.

I forced a smile on my lips. "Hi, you must Mrs. Grady." I stretched out my hand, expecting a handshake, receiving none, I slid my hands away. "I'm Katie Knight from Channel Ten, and I'm here about the time-traveling incident. I hope that I'm not of any inconvenience," I said, trying to be optimistic as possible. She stepped away from the door.

"Not at all dear. What story, dear? Forgive me, but my hearing isn't that great, dear," she replied back, "Do you want to come inside?"

"Yeah, that would be great. Thanks." I stepped in and looked around. The house was no different from the inside, it gave off the vibe of homely. Vanilla. Everything smelled like vanilla, how enriching and bewitching. No modern appliances was visible nor were anything modern vacant.

The elderly woman probably wanted to redecorated her home so that it could be similar to the time period when she a youth. Was this the time traveling we got a report on? It couldn't possibly be; well that's my job to find and put the pieces together in the puzzle. Strangely, there were no leather covering like the chairs outside, but cloth covering: flowers patterns. And red velvety cushions, a wooden bookshelf with classics ranging from alphabetically order, three sofas in the middle, a couple of picture frames hanging, and a similar rug like the one outside.

I turned around and face my companion. Where was Douglas? This was not okay with me, this elderly woman might be so nice to let me in, but that didn't excused his behavior.

"Dear, I just baked a fresh batch of cookies. Would you like some with a nice cup of hot coca?" she asked, almost whispering, in a very sweetly voice. Her hands were clasped together, her brows twitching.

I slumped down on the sofa. The sofa smelled like vanilla, like everything else of course, with a few exceptions. It felt good just resting my aching bones after a long journey - maybe not days, but a good five hours. That's more than enough to left a person restless.

"Sure, that would be nice. Thank you," I said, picking up the newspaper that was on the table.

That date on that newspaper was June, 25th, 1920s, even the paper felt a little rusty under my fingers. So she kept record of old newspaper and classics.

She returned with a fresh batch of cookies, straight out of the oven, I assumed, since the smoke was flaring up from the tray. It smelt so good like when I visited my grandparents, and received baked goodies from my grandmother. Noticing my expression, which I was sure was lust - not that kind of lust - the old woman settled the tray on the table.

She poured the coca into the teacup which looked elegant. "Do you want sugar in your coca, dear? Milk too, dear?" she called out, seating herself at the sofa.

Putting down the newspaper, the headline caught my attention: "LOCAL WOMAN DIED IN THE BLIZZARD." There was a picture of a woman in a black dress, just like the one woman was wearing, and her face was like that woman. It can't be; that must be her mother or a relative.

She looked at me. I answered, "No milk, please. Two scoops of sugar, please." Turing back my attention to the newspaper, I decided to ask her about it. "Mrs. Grady, was this your mother?" I pointed to the picture. She bent back and squinted her eyes to get a better view.

"No dear, that's me dear. I was quite the vixen in the day." She laughed, a mellow laugh. What? She's old so her memory could be all over the place. I decided not to pursued the matter because I could cause her to recall things that was kept hidden for a reason.

Sipping the coca and slipping a cookie into my mouth, the thought of informing my boyfriend of two years, three days, and counting of my safe return emerged. I was such a crappy girlfriend lately, but I had been busy with work. And James understood that, I am sure of that, even he admitted that. If I don't call him, he would probably want contact with me in some sort of way, even if it meant flying to Dallas. So overprotective and an overachiever, it drove me nuts just thinking about it.

I will call him, but not after another cookie. I shoved the cookie into my mouth, and sure Mrs. Grady was looking at me as if I was a savage, but cookies are so delicious especially homemade. Not wanting to be impolite, I informed her of calling my boyfriend. She answered me back with young love; she was a nice elderly woman despite appearances.

Emptying my handbag on the counter, I found my cell, between my makeup kit and cosmetics. It won't kill to be more organized, I reminded myself.

Punching in James' number, it rung for eight times before the guy answered it. What was he doing? Not cheating on me. Of course not. We already had that talk; if one of us decided to cheat on the other, then it's only fair if the other takes away that person's favorite thing, and make them suffer for it. So there was a long chance that either of us would be doing that in the future or present.

"Hello, hello, anyone there? Katie?" I heard an impatient voice on the other line, and an alarm going off. "Crap, crap! Not the food! Don't hang up, Katie."

Burning food? Why am I not surprise? I can imagine James panicking and running around, thinking about what to do. After dating him, it's easy to know his likes, dislikes, reactions, actions, and everything.

I heard someone breathing, informing me he was on line. "Katie? You still there?"

"Hi, James. So how have you been? Not causing hazardous situation without me?" I asked, laughing, trying hard to take out the humor in my voice.

"Ha, ha, ha, very funny. I'm good, thanks. And how are you holding up? Doug called. He said that you weren't there. He tried calling you, but you didn't pick up. Everything okay?" I could hear the concern in his voice. He probably is running a hand through his beautiful brown hair.

A paper fell off the counter. Bending down, I picked it up. "What do you mean? I didn't hear my phone ringing? Douglas left me here? You tell your friend that he is dead, dead I tell you."

I heard a chuckle from the other line. "I think he knows that already. So how are things? You managing okay there? Do you need me to come and get you?"

"Everything is fine. I actually met Mrs. Grady, she is a nice woman." I paused for a moment, reading the note. It said: "GET OUT OF HERE!" "Really, you would drive five hours to just take me home? That's sweet, but I'm big girl. I can take care of myself. Thanks for the offer."

I heard barking on the other line. "Mrs. Grady? She went to visit her kid. Are you sure it's her?"

"Yes, positive, maybe you were misinformed. James, was that a dog, in the background?" I came off sternly than I intended.

I heard a nervous chuckle coming from the other line. "No-yes, I know I promised that I won't get a dog. But he was calling for me...and I couldn't help myself. You'll love him. Brady, say hi to Katie." The dog barked.

"But James, are you sure you can handle a dog? It's a lot of responsibility. You ready for that? Caring for him, cleaning up after him, taking him for a stroll?"

"Yes, I think it through before I got Brady. Please lemme keep him," he implored, the dog whimpered too. Great, a duo, how great.

"How can Doug be friend with you?" I muttered under my breath. "Okay, I'll let you keep him for the time being, I won't promise you anything, until I see the facts."

"I'm ready for this." I heard him exhaling and inhaling. "And what do you mean about Doug? Next to the guys, he's my best bud."

"Okay, James. I have to go. Talk to you later. Miss you. I love you." I switched the phone off.

James being James, that's the guy I love.

About the note, it seemed like a threat. A threat but why? It didn't made any sense. Why would anyone want me out of here? I didn't have any enemies, and it wasn't as if I was uncovering a private scandal. Instead, it was just case of false pretext. And Mrs. Grady was a sweet lady but could be a little nuts at times.

Turning away from the note, I slipped it in my pocket, and went back to Mrs. Grady.

She looked up when I arrived, from the book. "Everything alright between you and your husband?"

Slipping my hands in my back pocket. "Everything's great. But he's not my husband, not yet anyway, but boyfriend."

"Youth today, I don't understand them. I'm glad things are good for you, dear." She brought new articles, the table was stacked with them. "Dear, I got some newspaper for you. I didn't know what you were looking for, so I brought the most recent newspapers.I hope that's okay with you, dear?" she said, wiggling her nose.

The newspapers was neatly stacked and seemed old. "That's great. The more the merrier. In this case, the more, the better." I kneeled down and started checking through the papers. There were all around the 1920s, the same time. This was weird.

She breathed in a sigh of relief. "Thank heavens. I thought you won't be happy, dear. I'm glad you're here, dear. I haven't had visitors for ages. It's nice to finally to see a new face. It's lonely here without any company."

"Oh. What about your daughter? Why don't you move in with her? It might do some good for you," I suggested.

She was silent.

I guess I stroke a nerve there, but I remembered Douglas saying that Mrs. Grady and her daughter was close. And she was thinking of moving in with her. She looked out of the windows, and her face turned pale. Suddenly, I felt the house trembling beneath me - what the hell is going on here?

Panicky, she jostled me and rushed to the stairs. I don't understand any of this. Returning back, a book was in her hand and a big traveling bag or something that looked like one.

"Dear, it's unsafe for you to be here. You must go now." Her voice was trembling and she was nothing like the nice elderly woman I met before.

She opened the book, and a swish of breeze flipped the pages. She muttered something in some foreign language. "Persona non grata," she said, I thought. Latin. I remembered Douglas forcing me to go to a class that taught Latin. I have to thank him later for that. It meant unwelcome person, I recalled from memory.

As I was thinking about that, the strangest sight caught my attention. Mrs. Grady was being hauled into the book; gradually the sofas, frames, and everything else in the house rose up in the air, and went straight in the book. Damn, I needed to get the hell out of here.

The walls will be gone and soon the floor too, and then I will be gone. Crap, what nonsense have I gotten myself into?

I ducked down after a flying saucer came towards me. Crap, crap, crap. Being vigilant, the next step was to get out; that will be impossible to do. No door. No windows. I was going to die. And no one will know the reason. I should have gotten out when I had the chance. Now it was too late.

Holding my face in my palms, preparing for my death.

The noise suddenly came to a stop. Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw that I was in the grass. James was there and Douglas; they looked worried.

"Katie, you okay?" James asked me. "You have been out for a couple of hours."

What? "J-James, did you see it...the house coming down? Mrs. Grady being hauled in the book?" My voice was shaky, and I trembled. James wrapped his hands around me.

"She's out of it. Big time," Doug told him. "Katie, I think you got the address wrong, and end," he said, looking around the place, "up here in this dump. There is no house here, never had been any, since Mrs. Gordon and the house crushed down in 1920."

"But I saw her. I know I did," I let out.

James' lips kicked upfront. "I'm sure that you did. Katie, let's get you some food and a nice hot bath." His eyes locked with mine.

I closed my eyes and tried to forget about it; the woman and the house might be real, but there was no way that anyone will believe me, without assuming that I was insane. James will not, Douglas will not, my boss will most definitely not, my friends will not, my family will not. It was no use; it's better to act dumb about it. Rather than admit it.

"That sounds great," I answered, leaning in him, smelling the fresh manly scent.

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**_Thanks for reading. Please leave me your honest opinions. Thanks._**


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